An Intervention
by theonewhoneversleeps
Summary: Continuation from the end of "Intervention." After Buffy kisses Spike, he realizes he could have a chance with her. Rated M for possible future situations. Completely Spuffy. Reviews much appreciated/begged for.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my first Spuffy fanfic XD I love reading them so I thought I would try writing one. Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but a slavish love of Spuffy.**

The door of Spike's crypt swung open with a bang, but he didn't have the strength to check who it was. His entire body was covered in either bruises, blood, cuts, gashes, or all four at once. He couldn't bring himself to move an inch from where he lay on a stone coffin. It wasn't the most comfortable of resting places, but it was better than moving.

"Spike, you're covered in sexy wounds," said a voice, and he rolled his head to peer out of one eye at Buffy Bot. Even if she wasn't the real Buffy, seeing her made him feel a little better. Like she really cared.

"Yeah," he managed weakly, and sat up. "I feel real sexy. Where you been?"

"I fell down and got confused. Willow fixed me. She's gay!" Buffy Bot said happily.

"Will fixed you?" Spike said incredulously. "I thought they'd melt you into scrap."

"They were confused too. Do you want to ravage me now?" Buffy Bot asked, putting a hand on Spike's knee, and smiling brightly. _Always,_ he thought.

"Give us a minute, got some bones need mending," he said tiredly.

"Why did you let that Glory hurt you?" Buffy Bot asked sadly.

"She wanted to know who the key was."

Buffy Bot started for the door with a springy step. "Well I can tell her and then—,"

"No!" Spike yelled, and then coughed from the small exertion. His chest could barely take the strain. "You can't, ever. Glory never finds out."

"Why?"

"'Cuz, Buffy…," he sighed, "the other, not-so-pleasant Buffy, if anything happened to Dawn, it would destroy her. Couldn't live, with her being in that much pain. Let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did."

Buffy Bot looked at him sadly, and stepped close. Bending her head, she pressed her lips as gently as she could on his.

Spike wanted to kiss her back, but even his lips were bloody and cut. Despite that, he still felt a frisson of warmth rush through him, just the way he would if it really was Buffy. Almost the way he would. He didn't really know, did he? Seeing as he was beneath her and all.

But suddenly, he realized something was wrong. Not wrong, different. He pulled away, confused.

Buffy Bot stared back at him levelly, the vacant, blank look gone from her eyes. She turned and left the crypt.

Spike fell back onto his cold, stone bed and held his head in his hands. He had kissed Buffy. The _real_ Buffy. More accurately, she had kissed him. That could only mean two things. One, his Buffy Bot had been destroyed. Two, he had a chance with the real Buffy.

Or at least, he would when he regained his strength, and _that _wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

Spike resolved to heal _very_ fast.

* * *

"Buffy…no, don't go…mmmpphhh…." Spike rolled over and groaned in unhappiness, then cried out in pain. Awakening with a start, he found himself in his bed, alone, one arm pinned underneath him, causing him great pain. Not to mention there was no Slayer around, leaving or otherwise. That had been a dream.

A very good one—at least it seemed to have been leading to what would have been a good one, until dream-Buffy left him. "Bloody hell," Spike muttered angrily, "even get rejected by Buffy in my dreams."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and ended up falling out of it. "Bloody hell," he said again.

There was a noise from upstairs. "Spike?" a voice called.

Buffy. The real Buffy. Spike arranged himself in a languid position, leaning against the bed. He tried to look well, if that was possible when there wasn't an inch of his body that wasn't an unnatural color. He couldn't even see out of one eye, it was doubtful that he would be up to snogging Buffy to any length. "Down here!" he called back.

Buffy appeared at the top of the stairs. "Feeling any better?"

Spike gave her what he hoped was a seductive, casual smile. "Right as rain. More than half way healed, I'd say. I'll be up an' running any day now."

"Uh huh," Buffy said sarcastically. "Tell me, did you decide that sitting next to your bed would be your idea of a good time, or did you fall out of it?"

He grimaced. She could always see right through him. "I'm stronger already, as I told you before. Now what do you want?"

"What, I can't just come visit you…" she started, then trailed off. No, she couldn't "just visit" Spike! What was she thinking? Spike was not eligible of visitage! He didn't deserve it. Even if he was gorgeous and amazingly sexy with those intense stares and well-defined muscles and…and…and…he didn't deserve visitage!

"Well, well, well. Was that you admitting to the liking of my miserable company?" he asked insufferably. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"No! Just because I do one nice thing for you, come here once to check on you and make sure you didn't somehow kill yourself between yesterday and today, and instead you do what you always do and have to act like a complete pig!" Buffy stopped abruptly and took a deep breath.

"But that just makes beautiful juxtaposition next to you, love," Spike said.

"SHUT UP!"

"Was that what you were doing yesterday? Making sure I wasn't dead? Did you have to touch me in order to do that? Because another kiss would tell you that right away."

The cold glare Buffy gave him was more than answer enough. The slam of his crypt door as she left was even more final.

But Spike knew it wasn't over. He would be back to his old self in a week, and when he was, he would make Buffy realize how much she was repressing when it came to their little talks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you enjoy the second chapter, sorry it took so long for me to update :P I plan on updating more often, and hopefully in bigger chunks if I can get the creativity flowing...please R&R! *please?***

_Stupid Spike,_ Buffy thought as she entered the graveyard for the third time in as many nights. After their last fight she had gone out to sulk and kill things. Lots of killing, to get the horrible feeling of fighting verbally with him out of her head. When there was violence involved, fighting Spike could make her feel better; when it was purely words, and it actually seemed to mean something, she felt even worse.

But now something was drawing her back to the crypt—again. Damn Spike and his irresistible magnetism. Why did he have to keep pulling her back? There was no reason she should visit him again. So what if he was mortally wounded from protecting her and Dawn from Glory?

Thankfully Buffy's internal torment over why she felt the need to go back was cut off by her arrival at the crypt door. _I could still leave,_ she thought, putting one hand on the door.

Inside though, she knew she couldn't. She really couldn't. Because it screwed with her already-miserable brain. Because talking to Spike was important and…nice.

What? _Nice? Spike is not _nice_! He is evil and vile and..._

With a careful shove she opened the door, and peeked inside. Spike was absent from the room, which meant he was downstairs. _Probably lounging by the side of his bed again, after falling out._

She took a few more steps in, peering around carefully for any sign of him, but he really wasn't there. "Spike?" she called out, but there wasn't an answer.

_Right. Downstairs. Down ladder. Whatever. _She made her way to the opening in the floor and climbed through. As she did, Buffy noticed a voice coming from the lower floor. _Must be down here._

Sure enough, Spike was in the pit of the crypt, lying on his bed, only under a sheet with his chest and lower legs exposed. Very invitingly, Buffy had to note. _Shut. Up. _she told the voice in her head.

She was distracted from that annoying voice by more talking. Coming from Spike.

"Mmm, pet," he groaned, "God, you're so hot, you're a goddess, you're amazing, aaahhh," he said, and writhed on the bed a little. It would have been funny, if it wasn't so…

_Naked._ The sheet that had been covering Spike fairly well had suddenly and completely failed at its job and was utterly absent from the picture. The only picture she was seeing now was of Spike's perfect, chiseled body in a huge bed.

"Keep doing that," he muttered, "never stop." _Wow, talk about a hot dream. Is this Drusilla we're dealing with?_ Buffy wondered, still listening to his soliloquy of lust. "Yeah, right there, oh god, I love you, love you Buffy."

Spike was having a dream about her. And it was definitely not PG. Or even PG-13. Judging from the way he was clutching the bed sheets it was more in the R vicinity.

Another loud moan made her reconsider. What was after R?

While she listened to Spike continue his disturbing string of obscenities, Buffy contemplated the situation. In a twisted way, it was humorous. Despite the nakedness—or maybe because of it—and despite the fixation on her, it was kind of funny.

_Actually, it could get even funnier. _Buffy put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, surveying Spike with a musing expression. Then, with a slight nod like she had made up her mind, she walked to the edge of the bed, and carefully climbed onto it, kneeling next to Spike.

Who was still in the throes of his inappropriate, worthy-of-ass-kicking dream.

Might as well make it worse.

"Spike," she said softly, and put a hand on his chest.

"Buffy."

_No point in much talking. He can't really hear me anyway._ With barely a second of thought, Buffy moved closer, leaned in, and kissed Spike.

His reaction was almost enough to make her think he was awake. His arms wrapped around her and he kissed her back, much better than the night she had pretended to be Buffy Bot. She gently bit his bottom lip, something she'd always wanted to do. _What? No! Not always…not consciously…ah, whatever, it's not like he'll know anyway._

She moved closer to him to get a better angle for the major kissage that was so pleasantly burning in her veins, and moved her legs up, on either side of him so that she was straddling him, just the way she had done to a thousand other vampires.

Except that with all those other vampires she had been pointing a stake dead at their hearts and it had ended with their dusty death. She had never knelt over a vampire with the intention of **kissing** them to death.

Her hands moved down, tracing Spike's perfectly defined chest and stomach. He was cool, despite the heat she knew was coming off of her. _Maybe I can change that._ Buffy, who had been suspended carefully above him, pressed herself into his body, rocking a little against him.

Spike's reaction was once again unprecedented. He pushed even harder back against her, arching his back. Even worse was how Buffy reacted back. One hand tangled in his short hair that was, for once, messy, _and incredibly sexy_, instead of combed back. The other was still on his stomach, but slowly, not even, it seemed, of her own volition, it was moving downwards…

With a jolt, Buffy pulled back, and toppled off the bed. What the hell was she doing? Spike was…Spike! She had just made out with Spike, **naked** Spike, and that was not on her list of Best Choices To Make.

Spike didn't seem to have noticed she had left the premises…of his bed. He was still having his little dream.

_A perfect opening for me to leave,_ Buffy decided, and did just that, hoping she could pick up the pieces of her dignity and self-respect on the way out.

She really needed a cold shower. Or an ice bath.

* * *

Spike woke up slowly, thankfully not with the sensation of falling off the bed again. He felt amazing. "Bloody amazing," he said out loud. "Bloody good dream…"

Then he frowned. Yeah, bloody amazing, sure. **Too** bloody amazing. His usual Buffy dream, the one that he had started with that time, always ended with her leaving. Sometimes there was a little Buffy action, but nothing like he remembered from this time. This time, this dream, she had definitely not left.

He stretched, and put his arms behind his head. So, what was different this time? Was it a sign? He smiled at that thought. Like the scrumptious little slayer would ever do those things to him. Certainly not the things he had dreamed about…but if she did, god, that would be the end of him. He would do anything for that to be real.

Maybe, he thought, his mind had simply decided not to bloody gang up on him, and let him have his fun. It was all in his head, might as well drain the dreams for all they were worth.

But Spike couldn't be satisfied with that explanation. If he didn't know better, he would have said this was how actual sex with the Slayer would feel afterward. Or, if not sex than something close to it. Perfectly sated, that was how he felt. Now if he could just top it off with some Slayer blood, he would be content…

Right. Off topic. The dream. It had felt so real. Like she was really there. What was different about last night? Could it be the proximity to Buffy in the past few days? No, that wasn't different. Nothing had changed besides the kiss that she had willingly bestowed on him, the one that had only left him wanting more.

Just the thought of that kiss—and the more ardent, if imaginary ones, in his dream—made him hot. Metaphorically.

Spike sat up suddenly. He sniffed the air and frowned. He sniffed again.

A slow smirk spread across his face. Could it be? Buffy had been so close to him, and it had made him change the usual dream?

The question was, how close? Had she stopped when she saw him asleep and left? Or had she stuck around? Watched him while he was vulnerable and—he looked down, smirking again—naked?

From the scent, she had been around long enough, close enough, to get pretty hot herself.

A thought occurred to him, and he bent his head, sniffing his chest, then his arms. Then his licked his lips.

The slayer had definitely been here. All over him. How much and how long she had been all over him, he didn't know. But there was one way to find out.

_Just ask._


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope you enjoy! Sorry for the long time...I guess that's the way I roll for now. Anyway...**

The loud music of the Bronze pounded through Buffy's head thoroughly. Just what she needed to get Spike off her brain.

She was dancing with Willow, more intently and harder than usual. It actually seemed to be alarming her diminutive friend.

"Hey Buffy, I'm going to get a drink, you want?" Willow asked her. She was worried about her best friend; Buffy hadn't been herself since she got to the Bronze. All she knew was that Buffy had gone on a short patrol, and when she met them at the Bronze, she seemed kind of shaken up, but ready to party. Even more ready than usual.

"No, I'm good!" Buffy shouted over the music, and kept dancing. Alcohol could come later, if the music wasn't enough to keep Spike out.

She kept dancing, noting the astonished faces of her friends from where they were sitting at a table by the stairs. They had never seen her party this hard—at least, not since that time she drank all the beer. That hadn't really been partying though, just drinking a lot.

"Is Buffy really doing what I think she's doing?" Xander asked uncomfortably. All he got from Willow, Anya and Tara were stunned nods.

"I didn't know Buffy knew that dance move," Anya said admiringly.

"D-do you think we should…do something?" Tara asked hesitantly.

Xander and Willow shrugged. "No, let her have some fun!" said Anya.

Meanwhile Buffy was rethinking her refusal of alcohol. Her clothes were starting to cling to her with sweat, and her hair was messier than she could ever remember it being in public, but she was still preoccupied with thoughts of Spike.

A few guys had come up to her and, unbidden, started dancing with her. They were semi-hot, but who could really compare to Spike?

_No! Stop the thought of Spike! Spike thoughts are bad. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…but she kept dancing.

* * *

Spike strode across town, heading for the one place he could think of that Buffy would be after patrol.

The Bronze was packed when he got there. The band was loud, but it couldn't make up for their shitty sound. Made him long for the days when he would go to a Sex Pistols concert and beat up a few sods just for the fun of it…

For a second Spike was lost in happy thoughts of the ear-splitting, rough concerts he'd been to, back in England, but then he was drawn back to the present. He needed to find Buffy and ask her what she'd been up to in the past few hours.

First though, he needed a drink. "Beer," he demanded from the guy at the bar, who gave him a look before handing it to him. Spike put a few bills—probably not enough—on the counter, and walked away, sipping it and muttering about the inferior quality of American beer.

It didn't take him long to locate the rest of the precious Scooby Gang, sitting at their usual table by the stairs. It made him miss the good old days when the only reason he would be frequenting the Bronze would be to terrorize its patrons and get some warm, pumping blood.

On the other hand, his new goal was even better. Find Buffy and get some warm, pumping Slayer.

It didn't take him long to find her either. Her long blonde hair was whipping around as she danced like he'd never seen her dance. She was wearing her impossibly tight leather pants and a red half-shirt. She was unbearably sexy. He watched her for a moment, contented just to do that.

Until he saw the four other guys dancing with her, looking fairly pleased with themselves, even if Buffy was ignoring them, off in her own world. All of them were smirking, and more than once he saw them try to start grinding on her. Wait, not try! Buffy was going along with it!

Spike felt his blood run cold. Metaphorically. Inadvertently, his hand clenched in a hard fist, and he took a long draw off his beer with the other. Buffy could do what she wanted but…no she couldn't, who was he kidding? He might not be her boyfriend, but they had something, didn't they? And then she just came to the Bronze after kissing him and who knew what else?

That was what he had come to find out. That was what he would ask.

Spike strode purposefully onto the dance floor, eyes fixed on Buffy. He would mess with her a little while he was at it.

He came up behind her. Buffy was so entranced in her dancing, with thoughts of Spike on her brain that she didn't notice it was really him near her. She could hardly concentrate with the delirium induced by dehydration and the memory of kissing him, and nearly doing other things.

Spike didn't intend to dance. No one was going to see him do that today…but he could still dance with Buffy, in a manner of speaking. Starting right now…

He put a hand on either side of her hips, and she immediately leaned into him, without knowing who it was. At the sight of Spike, the four guys who had been dancing with her retreated. Buffy didn't care, one was more than enough. Plus, those guys hadn't been hot enough.

Spike pulled her even closer. To his surprise, Buffy didn't pull away, just began dancing.

He nearly gasped out loud when she did. She was trying to make him take her right here in the Bronze, wasn't she? Because that was what he was about to do. His hands gripped her tighter, harder than a stranger would be permitted to, but she just kept on dancing.

Knowing that he couldn't last much longer with Buffy teasing him like this, he leaned in close to her ear and, nearly touching it, letting his breath tickle her ear, he whispered, "What were you doing in my crypt, pet?"

Buffy's reaction was priceless. She whipped around with a cry of rage, and in a blink had a stake at his chest, pressing into his blood-red button-up shirt that matched hers perfectly. Where had the stake come from anyway? Every inch of her clothes was like a second skin. He was too preoccupied by the blush on her cheeks to consider that further. It was a blush he knew only his words could cause.

"Spike!" she didn't move the stake from above his heart. "What are you talking about?"

_Managed that lie without even a blink. That's my girl._

"I'm talking about you," he said, smiling. "**All**," he batted the stake away, "**over**," he pulled her up against him again and put his mouth next to her ear, "**me**." With the last word he drew back, hearing her barely audible painful gasp.

"I was nowhere near you." She still denied it. Fine. She needed a little more prodding.

"I'm a vampire love. You can't trick me. I'd know your scent anywhere," _from all those clothes I stole, _"and I could taste you on my lips. I could smell you. What I want to know is, how far were you willing to go?"

Buffy was almost shaking from fury and the strength of stopping herself from punching Spike right there in the Bronze.

Then it occurred to her—why not?

She pulled her arm back and let her fist collide as hard as she could with Spike's face. And with all her Slayer strength, that was _hard._ His head snapped back, but when it came back up, he was grinning infuriatingly at her, with that unique sneer he had that made her want to do unspeakable things, starting with kissing him right there.

"That far?" he curled his tongue under his teeth, making her thoughts even more muddled. "I'm shocked, Slayer," he added sarcastically. "Didn't peg you for being so naughty."

Before she tried to stake him again, he retreated, but not before getting one more parting shot. "Any time you fancy teasing me in my sleep again, love, consider I wouldn't mind it when I'm awake."

Buffy stayed rooted to the spot, the stake still in her hand, loosely held at her side. From their table, Xander, Tara, Willow and Anya were shell-shocked. Had Spike just dirty-danced with Buffy, said something that made her blush, nearly gotten staked, and somehow escaped? Apparently so.

**PLEASE review! PLEASE? yeah, I've resorted to outright begging.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Finally finished the new chapter, hope you enjoy! read and review please!**

Buffy was still standing, dumbstruck, on the dance floor when Willow came over, holding a drink in one hand.

"I have no idea what just happened, but I come with a strong drink." She held it out to Buffy. It was straight vodka.

"Thanks." Buffy downed it in one swallow. Willow tried not to judge.

"What was that about?" she asked. The look on Buffy's face was changing rapidly from shocked to pissed off. Willow wasn't sure she wanted to be around when Buffy got hold of Spike and most likely staked him. Whatever they had been talking about had obviously made Buffy _very_ angry.

"Nothing—nothing at all," Buffy said quickly, turning a shade of red that Willow had never seen. "Who knows what Spike wants half the time? He's probably crazy. In fact, don't listen to him if he talks to you. Don't believe anything he says."

"Alright…" Willow said slowly. Spike had really shaken Buffy up.

"You know what, I'm gonna go home." Buffy handed the now-empty glass to Willow and started for the door of the Bronze. "I just need some time to…think."

Willow didn't think letting Buffy go was a great idea, if only because she might go after Spike and try to kill him. She didn't want to force Buffy to stay though, so she smiled encouragingly. "Okay. If you're sure you're fine."

"Yeah…I'm all with the fineness." _You know what Spike would say to that if he were here…something like "you're fine all right." _Buffy wanted to scream. Now even her inner dialogue was ganging up on her, telling her what Spike _would_ be saying if he was there. She would never escape him!

"Leaving now," she managed to squeak out and left the Bronze.

Willow stared after her. Buffy didn't seem on top of her game enough to actually stake Spike, but that could be for the bad…

Deciding that she could take care of herself, Willow went back to where Anya, Tara and Xander waited perplexedly.

"So what's with the Buffy freak-out?" Xander asked. "Are we going to kill Spike?"

"I don't want to kill Spike," Anya said, pouting. "He's nice to look at, and very attractive. I find his accent nearly irresistible. "

"An!" Xander exclaimed.

"You don't want me to lie, do you? Besides, it's only natural. I'm sure if you asked Tara or Willow they would say the same thing, despite being very lesbian."

Tara looked around uncomfortably. Willow laughed automatically, but stopped abruptly when she saw Tara's expression. "Wait…you think…?"

"Well, if I wasn't…and you were…in an alternate dimension—,"

"Without shrimp?" Xander interjected.

"—then I might say—he is…" Tara looked at Willow nervously. Willow blushed.

"I can sort of relate…I mean," Willow hesitated, "before the whole 'turning gay' pivotal point of my life…Spike is very nice looking," she finished resolutely.

"You see?" Anya asked. "Everyone thinks so."

Xander didn't look happy. "You're saying I'm the only one here who doesn't think he's hot?"

"Xander, I thought you said Spike was more studly than you would ever be? You said it just the other—"

"An!" he said again. "When I told you that, it was one of those things you _don't tell other people._"

Tara giggled a little. Willow tried to hide a smile.

"Enough!" Xander said. He couldn't believe his deepest, darkest secret had been revealed by his loquacious girlfriend. He was sure that any minute Spike was going to walk in, somehow knowing that Xander secretly recognized his studly-ness. "When will we kill him?"

"Actually don't think we are," Willow said, perplexed. "Buffy wasn't too mad when I talked to her. Not mad enough to kill him, at least."

The Scoobies didn't know what to think, and the discussion continued for a long time at the Bronze. They would never have guessed what actually happened, no matter how much discussing they did.

* * *

Buffy made her way back to her house. She was in no mood for more thinking about…Spike and his stupid, muscled, tight body…

No, she was not in the mood.

Not at all.

Not even a little bit.

Instead she reached her house, and took a long, cold shower. She let the cool water calm her down, extinguishing the burning in her cheeks and the heat all over her body.

Buffy got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. Then she went to her room, and dug through her drawers, looking for pajamas. She decided on a cropped tank top and shorts.

She lay in bed for a while, trying not to think about anything.

She managed not to think about anything but Spike.

Finally she fell asleep, restlessly dreaming about everything she was trying not to.

* * *

Spike made his way aimlessly through Sunnydale, not really sure where his feet were taking him. He couldn't help but grin enormously. Buffy had done something naughty, that was for sure from her reaction. God, it had taken all his self-restraint not to grab her and kiss her with the passion he had always dreamed about. He needed to clear his mind.

He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and lit it, blowing the smoke out into the night air. There had to be some way to make Buffy get that she wanted him, not only when he was asleep. She just needed a little push…

When he looked up, he was at Buffy's house, under the tree that had been his only company for so many nights.

From the window that he had peered through desperately so many nights, he could hear Buffy's gentle breathing. _I love that girl,_ he thought involuntarily. _Where the bloody hell did that come from?_ He hardly ever admitted things like that so clearly to himself. But the truth was, he did. Of course he thought she was a beautiful, smoking hot girl as well, but everything about her made him love Buffy. Except maybe when she punched him. Why did she always go for the nose?

Suddenly there was a change in the soft, constant noises coming from her room. There was a break in her breathing and she mumbled something. Spike didn't catch it. _Damn vampire hearing. Couldn't work when I bloody need it!_ He strained his ears in case she said it again, but there was only the sound of her breathing again. That was pleasant, but he wanted to know what she had said.

Spike leaned against the tree and waited in case she spoke again. Just when he was about to give up and leave, he heard her speak again. This time he caught what she said.

"Spike." It was only one word, but it sent a thrill through him. His name. She had said it. That was her bloody unconscious speaking! She could deny everything when she was awake, but there was no denying what she said now.

He'd finished his cigarette, and his mind was made up. He could give Buffy that little push that she needed.

With the agility he had gained as a vampire, Spike swung himself from a tree branch onto the roof, right outside her window. It was open, and he climbed through quietly.

Just seeing Buffy took his breath away. Her blonde hair was spread out like a halo around her face, and the blankets had gotten pushed to the ground. The tank top she was wearing left her perfect, golden stomach uncovered, and underneath that her legs extended from the white shorts. Forget the Bronze, he could barely keep from kissing her now. This was ten times worse.

"Spike," she said, for the third time. It really was him she wanted.

He edged closer to her bed. With delicate hesitance, he brushed her hair gently with his fingertips.

Then, with a steadying breath that he didn't need, he leaned in, and pressed his lips carefully on hers.

Buffy was a light sleeper, she woke up the moment he kissed her. Her eyes widened and she made a noise of confusion, until she realized it was Spike.

There were a few seconds, with Spike tensing for what he thought was the inevitable attack with a stake, and Buffy processing the feel of being woken up with the lightest of kisses.

Then she reached her arms up and pulled him closer, kissing him back. It grew deeper, her mouth opening gently to let his tongue entwine with hers and explore what was happening. Buffy drew him into her body, letting his smooth planed chest come level with her.

Spike wasn't letting this opportunity pass him by. He didn't know if he had died and gone to a heaven he didn't deserve, but he took Buffy's lead, and at her encouragement placed a hand behind her head and another on her breast, tweaking it and making her gasp and arch closer. He rolled over her and onto the bed next to her, letting her come up for air.

"Spike…" she sighed, "we shouldn't…"

"We should, luv, we most definitely should," he said, and met her with another dizzying kiss. "I think you already did once…"

She didn't answer. Instead she kissed him harder, and let the night happen in waves of pleasure and cold comfort of the best kind.

**Sorry if you wanted lots of smut...still not sure if I'm going there, but I hope you liked it anyway. Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I'm also going to be posting a new oneshot called Summer Heat Wave, so watch out for that as well!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Enjoy this new chappy! Because I kinda suck it's short, but that means that I _promise_ (strong stuff there) to post another sooner than usual, by Tuesday. Yay! **

Buffy's eyes fluttered gently, but she didn't open them. She savored the feeling of arms around her, one splayed across her stomach, the other cupping her breast gently. Everything felt cool and secure. Snuggling in closer to the solid chest behind her, she took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of cigarettes, leather and…

_Wait a sec…_

With a swift movement, she rolled out of Spike's arms, grabbed the stake under her pillow and rolled back onto him, straddling his thighs and holding the fatal piece of wood directly over his heart.

"Ah, ah, ah," Spike said, waking up instantly. A sharp stake poking ones chest can do that. "Foreplay this early in the morning, luv? Didn't think you'd be up for that. Gotta say though," he glanced down and raised an eyebrow, "I certainly am."

Looking down, Buffy almost blushed. Yes, Spike was definitely "up" for it. And the affirmation of this also brought to her attention that they were both very, very naked.

"Shut up, Spike." She pressed the stake down a little harder, drawing a drop of blood. "You are leaving. Now. Or I dust you right here."

He stuck out his bottom lip, pouting irresistibly. The worst part, Buffy thought, was that he knew that lip would get her. "Can' make me leave, pet. 'S bright as day out there. Bugger, it is day. Want me to burn like a bleedin' candle?

"Well…" Buffy tapped her lip with a finger, "actually, yes." With a decisive nod she looked down at him expectantly.

"You sure you don't want to go again?" He raised his hips and ground against her suggestively. "Once more…with feeling?" He shrugged. "Not that there wasn't feeling last night, quite a bit as I remember it. Was it five, or six times?" he cocked his head.

Buffy rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the other half of her brain that was saying _SEVEN!_ and climbed off the bed, immediately searching for her scattered clothes.

"Looking for something?" Spike asked, holding up her thong with a smirk.

With a glare she made a move to snatch it back, but he pulled it away. "Not so fast, think I'll be keeping this here as a memento of our time together."

She rolled her eyes again, knowing that nothing she could say was going to stop him from taking it. With a sharp pull she took the sheet from underneath him and wrapped it around herself, causing Spike to fall unceremoniously to the floor.

_Whump._ "Oi! Give a man time t' get to 'is feet!" He appeared from the side of the bed, arms flailing. By the time he emerged Buffy was clothed. "Well that's a downright un-improvement!" he said, referring to the sweats and tank top she had donned. Catching her glare, he backpedaled. "Not that you don't look gorgeous in anything, 'cause you do, but really I prefer you naked. All that soft golden skin, and your luscious—,"

"Don't even start."

"'Course, you look even better when you're on top of me, pulling me into your—,"

"Aren't you leaving?" Buffy asked coolly, holding up the stake again.

He shrugged. "Can't."

"Can," Buffy said, throwing him his duster, "and will." With that sentiment she shoved him out of the window he was so conveniently standing next to.

"BLOODY HELL WOMAN!" Spike scrambled around on her lawn, naked, angry and smoking with a vengeance. He had given the girl he loved an amazing night, and now she had shoved him out her window, without a single consideration for his safety, a leather coat as his only shield against the sun.

"AND DON'T BE ASKING ME TO COME BACK!" he yelled as fled to the nearest sewer. _That bitch needs more than a good lay. She needs a bloody amazing fuck._

* * *

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as Spike left. Not of his own accord, but he left alright. She flopped onto her bed and looked at the clock. 8:00 AM. Way too early to deal with Spike in her bed.

Not that she had to deal with him anymore. She very nearly sighed in regret. Thinking back to last night…well, it made her almost wish he hadn't left.

Almost. In the sense that she didn't. _Right?_

She sunk into the bed and closed her eyes. Thinking about it couldn't hurt, right?

Right.

Riiiight.

Knowing that she should let it go and never speak of it again made the looming images worse. The feel of Spike kissing her touching her, inside of her and making it hurt in all the wrong places…

_Inner voices need to shut up now._

The phone rang and Buffy jumped. _Chill time Buffy._

"Hello?"

"Hey Buffster!" It was Willow.

"Hey. What's so up on a Saturday?" _Spike was up...he would have been happy to have another go..._

"Wanted to know if you wanted to hang out, maybe be breakfast at the Espresso Pump. I hear they're serving omelettes now!"

"No offense Will, but you are _way_ too perky for the time of day it is currently, and I didn't get a great night's sleep, sorry…"

"Oh, why?" Willow asked innocently.

"Just…some things came…up…a lot."

* * *

Spike paced his crypt, frantically trying to straighten out his thoughts. What could he do to make Buffy see?

He needed a plan.

"Bloody bint needs a shag, even better than the one she got last night…" how could he make it even better?

_Make her anticipate it, make her want it so bad she'll be beggin' for it. _He smirked. That should do the trick. Then when she couldn't take it anymore, he would prove to her that he was the only one she wanted.

So how should he start his plan? At the Bronze of course. That's where it had to start.

**Reviews? *insert Spike biting lip and smiling seductively as incentive***


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow! I promised another chapter by Tuesday, and look! It's here! (can you tell I'm excited about meeting my personal deadline?) So...read and I hope you like!**

_Spike was lying next to Buffy in bed, smirking, spearing her with those piercing blue eyes. He scooted closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. "Buffy," he whispered. She sighed. It wasn't a sigh of unhappiness, she was content, and she knew what he was about to say._

"_I love you."_

_She couldn't help but smile. He kissed her once, hard on the mouth, then moved his lips to her ear, saying how beautiful and perfect she was, how he would only ever want her. Typical Spike things that made her shiver. He sucked her earlobe gently and kissed a line down her neck, nipping at her shoulder…_

Buffy woke up around lunchtime and groaned. She had needed that nap after last night, but half the day was gone and she needed to get her mind off of Spike. Seriously. Her very detailed dreams had proven that.

The phone started ringing for the second time that day. "Helloooo?" She was so not in the mood…or maybe she needed to be…in the mood…but not for Spike! _No, no more Spike._

"Buffy! I know you said no to breakfast this morning, but I was thinking we could hang out at the Bronze tonight."

At first Buffy didn't want to go, but she realized slaying (or rather, being alone) was only going to make her reflect more on Spike, something she didn't want to do. So instead…

"Yes! Yes, that sounds great. When should I meet you?"

* * *

Spike took another gulp of whiskey and winced out of habit. Truth was, he stopped feeling anything about a bottle and a half ago.

He had a plan. Or at least, he thought he did. Things were so hazy, he might just be imagining it. The plan had something to do with Buffy, that was for sure. Buffy and her irresistible, alluring…he waved his hand absently, as if he could get rid of the memories of her—and her subsequent rejection of him. _Bloody hell she has problems. I give her the night of her life—better than her precious Angel, that's for sure, and…, _"AND I NEED A BLOODY DRINK!" He looked at the now-empty bottle and sighed. He needed more alcohol. He needed to see Buffy. He needed to go to the Bronze.

Frowning, he tried to dreg his half-made plan from the back of his mind. The Bronze had been part of it. An integral part. Probably because that was the only place he could think of that Buffy would willingly hang out at. She would be avoiding his area of the graveyard, and she could always just ignore him if he came to her house, so the Bronze was his best bet.

Nodding decisively—and then having to steady himself when the motion granted him a wave of nausea—Spike made his way to the door, ready to take on Buffy. But first he would have another drink.

* * *

Buffy showed up at the Bronze right on time, eager to get Spike off her mind. A night of dancing and chatting with Willow and Xander would be just right. Plus, she knew she looked amazing. She had chosen to wear her red halter top and leather pants, leaving her hair down.

She grabbed a table to wait for her friends after getting a diet coke. Wondering who the band was tonight, she squinted at a sign by the stage: _open…mike…night…_she made out.

_Are you kidding me?_ she thought. Last time there had been an open mike night at the Bronze, they had all come, thinking it would be a laugh, and maybe there would be some talent.

Of course they had ended up being totally wrong. Basically, it turned out like karaoke without the words to direct you. Pretty much a disaster. After sitting through a couple hours of it, they had left, vowing never to come back if there ever was another one. It was such a bad idea that she had heard the owners of the Bronze said they would never do it again, a prospect that all of the patrons agreed with.

Unfortunately, they seemed to be giving it another go. Buffy was not happy. And it seemed the people frequenting the Bronze around her tonight agreed. There was some grumbling, and she was just trying to catch the gist of their conversations when Willow appeared, with Xander in tow.

"Hey Buffy!"

"Willow," she said with a dangerous smile, "were you aware that it's open mike night?" At Willow's shocked look she added with a hiss, "_again?_"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Xander said, putting his hands up, "didn't we say if the Bronze did an open mike ever again we would leave and never come back?"

"I don't think that's a realistic option at this point, considering there's nowhere else in town, but something like that, yes," said Buffy.

Xander turned to Willow. "Good Godfrey Cambridge, Wills! If you had told me, no way I would have come."

"Hey! Not with the blamey, okay? How was I supposed to know? Obviously they weren't advertising the info, or _no one_ would have come."

Buffy shrugged. "I guess we might as well stay now. No point in leaving, it might be kind of amusing this time."

"Isn't that what we said last time?" Xander inquired, but sat down anyway as the first singer came onstage and started an only-slightly-mediocre rendition of "Every Morning" by Sugar Ray.

"Can't be that bad…" Buffy muttered, taking a deep gulp of her soda, almost wishing it was something stronger. That was Spike's solution when he had problems, right? Just drink some Jack.

Shaking her head, she tried to focus on the girl who was singing now, but even without knowing the song, she could tell it wasn't one she wanted to listen to. Instead she started talking to Willow. Apparently even the sound of bad singers drilling through her head wasn't getting rid of Spike-thoughts.

* * *

Spike stumbled into the Bronze. Even with his vampire constitution he was having a hard time holding all his liquor, but the fact that he was still standing was testament to the fact that he needed more.

"Bottle of Jack," he said to the bartender, and slapped down more than enough money for the booze.

There seemed to be a wailing coming from the stage, if he wasn't mistaken. Looking up, he saw a greasy-looking teenage boy, singing—if that's what it could be called. Not only that but he was butchering one of Spike's favorite songs: "God Save the Queen" by The Sex Pistols.

_God save the Queen  
The fascist regime  
They made you a moron  
Potential h-bomb_

The kid whined out the song, oblivious to the Brit in the back who was practically in pain. "Argh, bloody hell!"

_God save the Queen  
she ain't no human being.  
There is no future  
in England's dreaming_

"For chrissake," Spike muttered, and he was off, completely missing the blonde haired girl who had been the focus of his scheming for the past twelve hours. Buffy was just as unaware of him as well.

With a leap, he got on the stage and ripped the mike out of the kid's hands, still holding the bottle of Jack. "Now sod off, before I make you," Spike told him, and turned to the band. "How 'bout 'My Way' boys, think you know that one?"

They nodded a little tentatively, and started up a rendition that seemed to be going somewhere between the original version and a more punk, Sid Vicious type version. Only about half the backup seemed to have caught on that Spike would want the punk one.

Paying them no mention, Spike launched into it…

* * *

Buffy had managed to tune out the past few performers—if that was what they could be called—by talking to Xander and Willow, but she couldn't help but be relieved when she heard the current guy being cut off, mid- punk anthem.

She didn't bother to see why, though, until the band started up a raucous song, and someone started singing. It wasn't until the second verse that she realized who it was.

"Regrets," Spike moaned, "I´ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention! I did, what I had to do, and saw it through without exemption," he looked like he was almost in pain. "I planned each chartered course each careful step along the highway," he took a swig of his Jack, "and more, much more than this I did it my waaaaaay!"

"Oh my god," Buffy said.

"Is that…Spike?" Willow asked.

"Bleach boy?" Xander said, almost excitedly.

"Yes," Buffy said. Maybe she should be resigned to the fact that Spike was doomed to make a fool of himself—it would be so easy just to make fun of him, and let him keep singing—but she didn't want to be resigned. She wanted to do what was right. And it was **not** right for him to be singing so badly onstage in front of people he might have to deal with in the future, while completely hammered.

Meanwhile, as she tried to decide what to do, Spike was downing another fourth of the bottle (causing several people to marvel that he was still standing, considering he had obviously already been intoxicated) and had launched into the third verse, a little late.

"There were times, I'm sure you knew when there was fuck fuck fuck-all else to do, but through it all, when there was doubt I shot it up or kicked it out, I faced the wall and the world, and did it my way!" Spike sang.

Shaking her head, Buffy started for the stage determinedly.

**Once again, hope you liked it and please review, it makes me happy and makes for more posting faster! (seriously -_-) Also, I realize Spike probably consumed lethal amounts of whiskey in this chapter, but I chalk it up to his vampiric resilience.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry this is a few days late...I haven't had internet, but today thankfully I finally got it. Have fun reading, and please review!**

Unaware that Buffy was getting closer to the stage, Spike kept singing. Buffy pushed her way past the people crowding the Bronze, some of whom were actually enjoying the bleached wonder up on stage, and Spike sang the penultimate verse.

"I've laughed and been a snake," he nodded sagely, "I´ve had my fill, my share of losing," he squinted into the crowd, wondering if that was Buffy making her way towards him, and deciding he didn't care. "And now, the tears subside—,"

Before he could finish the verse, Buffy—it really was her, he had to note with blurred elation—had dragged him from the mike.

"Oi," he said in slurred annoyance, "I wasn't finished!" His protestations were echoed by the crowd, strangely. Apparently there could be no bad singing when it came to what Buffy thought of as "that music Spike listens to."

With one hand fisted on the lapels of Spike's leather duster, she pulled him out of the Bronze into the alley. It was much quieter outside, and she gave Spike a chance to pull himself together before she would talk.

He straightened his coat, made sure his hair wasn't in those poncy curls he hated so much and looked at her expectantly. "What d'you want then?"

Buffy almost skipped to the part where she ended this conversation and walked away, but held it together long enough to yell at him. "What do I _want? _What the hell were you doing? There are vamps that hang out at the bronze, you can barely stand and you were standing up there like an idiot singing! Anyone could have attacked you and you probably would have just lain down to let them do it with the state you're in!"

Even if he was inebriated, Spike could think past the cloud of alcohol. Deliberately curling his tongue behind his teeth and smirking the way he knew she liked, he leaned in. "Are you sure this isn't about you waking up in my arms this morning, luv?"

Buffy's expression went from angry to murderous in record time.

"Not only are we never talking about that HUGE mistake EVER again, but you need to get something through that thick," _gorgeous, platinum, kissable,_ "head of yours: you have no privileges when it comes to me. You're still a vampire, if only a neutered one, and that leaves you in the category of 'to kill,' preferably sooner rather than later. For now you're helpless, but once that chip is out, you're dead."

Spike had to admit that Buffy's words stung a little, even if he knew she said them just to get him to leave her alone. She was a little firecracker, but all it would take for him to bring her back to him was to have her admit that she had loved feeling him all around her, with her, and that it hadn't been a mistake. "That's a pretty monologue, but I can't help but feel that you don't really mean it. Why do I think that?"

"Because you're drunk and have some kind of deficiency?" she asked brightly, with a sweet smile that had Spike longing to kiss her.

So he did.

He reached out and tucked an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Everything about the situation was screaming "PUNCH HIM" to Buffy, but she couldn't. Not when his cool chest was keeping her close and his lips were caressing hers, first soft, then harder as she didn't pull away immediately. Sensing a chance to break down Buffy's defenses, he let her entangle his fingers in his hair, drawing him towards her with a strength that would hurt a human.

Without even trying, Buffy let her lips part, getting a sense of déjà vu when she did. _Cigarettes, Jack—not the best combination, but perfectly Spike._ Pushing the déjà vu away she allowed herself to kiss him harder, the way she couldn't with anyone else, with unmatched passion that only Spike received from her.

The déjà vu came back stronger though. The same sense of comfort and fervor and…_right._ The sense that she knew was wrong.

With the strongest effort she had ever expended, even throughout her days slaying demons, she pushed Spike away. Then, before she could regret the hurt look on his face, she drew her fist back and let it connect soundly with his nose, feeling it crunch slightly as she did. Even with the burst of satisfaction there was a tinge of guilt, but she tried to push it away.

Mustering the most angry, indignant face she could, she started a tirade again. "You think because we had _one_ huge mistake of a night, you can have me whenever you want? We aren't like that. You don't get that from me. Or anyone."

Spike felt a chill run through him at her last words. She was right, he didn't get it from anyone. Dru had left him, Buffy didn't have to, and he had no one else.

"Not only that, but you're drunk. I don't know how much you've had, but it must have been a _lot_ because vamps are fairly immune."

Despite the obvious brush-off she had given him, Spike tried again. He pressed his lips to hers and tried to pour all the love he felt for her into it. But this time Buffy was more than ready, and she pushed him away easily, ignoring the feeling that she wanted to let in.

"What do you not understand about us not being together?" she asked. There didn't seem to be any way to put a stop to his efforts.

"Persistence is the key to happiness, pet." The way he said it, there didn't seem any hope.

And for that lack of hope, Buffy felt the twinge of guilt return. But she would have been able to ignore it, easily, if he hadn't done the most persuasive thing he could have—and passed out.

With an ungraceful _thump_ Spike fell to the dirty alleyway ground, crumpling in a heap. Buffy couldn't believe her bad luck—because that was the only thing this was, bad luck. There was nothing good about having an unconscious Spike at her feet, at her mercy, stuck as her responsibility.

She really couldn't leave him, could she? Completely helpless to the demons and who knew what else—even humans, at this point—that could stake him without any exertion.

With a groan, she dragged him so that he was halfway-resting on her shoulder and started walking towards her house.

* * *

By the time she got home and put him on the couch, Spike had woken up somewhat, but he could hardly form a coherent sentence, which was clear from the nonsense he had started spouting.

"Your eyes…are like stars in the early-morning mist," he said, slurring almost incoherently.

Buffy chose to ignore him, but he kept at it. Even after hitting his head, he managed to stay persistent. "The moon shining moon on your hair is…" his eyes rolled up into his head.

Not sure what else she could do, Buffy tucked his legs on top of the couch and tugged off his filthy duster. She hesitated for a moment, then unbuttoned his shirt—thankful that it wasn't one of his tight black tees—and pulled that off as well. She would throw it in the wash later.

Trying not to stare at his peaceful face, not to mention his chest, she put a pillow under his head, and went upstairs to her own room, wondering why she was taking care of a wasted Spike.

**A bit short, sorry. More soon. Reviews are the best to keep me going!**


	8. Chapter 8

**First of all, I would like to apologize for the long wait. If there's still anyone out there who wants to read this, I will be very happy. Life has been insane, but I suppose that's normal. Thankfully I will have more time on my hands now, and I hope to finish this story at a normal pace now. Here's a long chapter, and I really will post again soon!**

Spike woke up with the sun barely inches from his foot and the feel of an unfamiliar couch under him. He knew for sure that it wasn't his crypt, but it was a surprise to find that it wasn't the torture cell of some former acquaintance. If he wasn't mistaken…he was in Buffy's living room?

Trying not to make any sudden moves in case he started to burn up, he carefully moved off of the couch, and stood. The whole house was quiet, which made sense because no way would Buffy bring him to her house unless she knew it was empty.

The question was, why and when had she brought him there in the first place? Dredging up the last memories he had was a hard task. Bits and pieces floated around; he had been drinking a lot, of that he was sure, but then there seemed to be recollections of _The Bronze?_ Why in the bloody hell would he have gone there? And something about…singing?

Christ. Singing was never good.

Feeling his nose, which was still a little sore, he guessed that at some point Buffy had punched him. On the other hand, with a jolt he realized that the one clear memory he had of last night was kissing her like he always had a longing to, at every moment of the day.

The disjointed memories weren't doing anything to help him find out what he was doing there, but did it really matter? Clearly Buffy was mad enough at him, because even if he was in her house he hadn't made it to her bed. _She didn't even close the bleedin' curtains!_

The best course of action, it seemed, would be to leave as quietly and quickly as possible. But before he made it to the door he realized two things: his duster was nowhere in sight, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. The shirt he could live without, the duster he needed to get out and to the nearest tunnel.

Cursing silently he stalked into the next room, the kitchen, but it wasn't there either. On t he bright side, he couldn't help but think about the fact that if half his clothes were missing, it was Buffy who had taken them off. It seemed he had been unconscious at the time, since he thought he would remember something like that.

He crept into the laundry room, and breathed a sigh of relief. There it was; a little bloody and covered in dirt, but it was sitting on top of the washing machine. He picked it up and put it on, feeling a little more complete, if slightly ridiculous as well with not shirt on. Making for the back door, he opened it as quietly as possible.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Fuck. Dawn.

He turned around to face her, and tried to look innocent. "Erm, just…dropping by?"

She looked at him skeptically, clearly not believing a word of it. "Normally when people drop by, they stick around long enough to actually say hello." If he wasn't mistaken, Spike sensed a bit of hurt in Dawn's voice.

"Bit, you know it's not you. I just think I should get out of here before your sis wakes up."

She stuck out her lip. She actually pouted. Why did she have to pout? Probably because she knew it would make him feel guilty. "But what about pancakes? We're going to eat pancakes!"

"Only if you're making them." They both realized that Buffy had come down the stairs and was watching them. "And I think Spike is right, and it's about time he left."

"See, told you," he muttered to Dawn. Buffy didn't look happy.

Little did Spike know that she was more frustrated about him leaving than anything else. If he had stuck around she could have acted normal, they would have bickered a bit and then he would have stayed anyway because that was what he always did: the opposite of what she said she wanted. But this was just…awkward.

Dawn didn't agree at all though, and coming the rescue, exclaimed, "No way! I _am_ making pancakes, and it's too sunny outside, and Spike loves maple syrup. So he's staying."

Buffy opened her mouth as if to say something irate, but she caught sight of Spike's face. He looked defeated, and on top of that she remembered what had happened last night. He probably still had a hangover, judging from the way he was wincing a bit, and Dawn was right, the sun was especially bright today, without a cloud in the sky. It was Saturday, and she should give him a break. Not to mention it would make Dawn happy.

"Fine!" She started heading back up the stairs. "I'll get dressed and come back down, but I'm not helping you cook."

"I don't think we want your help, luv," Spike said impudently.

She rolled her eyes and sauntered up the stairs. Spike just barely managed to catch a glimpse from where he was standing of her ass covered by stretchy yoga pants as she ascended.

"Right," he said to Dawn, when he had recovered from watching Buffy. "You got any clue how to make pancakes?"

"Sure!" she said with a laugh. "Pancake mix!"

While Spike and Dawn mixed water meticulously into the pancake powder, and started to heat up a pan on the stove, Buffy was upstairs trying to figure out what to wear. She'd practically kicked Spike out in the first place, so she didn't want to look like she was trying too hard, and actually cared about what he thought of her.

She held up a tank top with a low neckline, and made a face. No. She picked up a pair of pink shorts, but threw them aside as well. Too short for a normal breakfast. Yeah, totally normal.

Half of the other casual weekend clothes she had got the same treatment, and ended up piled on her bed. All she had ended up with after ten minutes was a messy room and the same clothes she had slept in—sweatpants and a tank top. With a groan she left the room, shutting the door, and went to the bathroom to take a shower. After last night she still smelled like the Bronze.

The water felt good, but didn't make her feel better about Spike. She didn't even know how to act around him at this point. Should she be nice? After all, she had rescued him from the various vamps and demons looking to take advantage of his incapacitated state last night. _Mmm, Spike incapacitated. What? No. NO._

Acting nice—or not even acting, just being—was a bad idea. She had to convince herself of that. Otherwise she would end up tangled in something she couldn't deal with. Not to mention she didn't have time for things like this—Glory was still around, even if it seemed she was lying low for now, and Buffy needed to focus on that. She didn't want another incident like the one with Spike that had led to all of this in the first place; she couldn't deal with another friend or ally being beaten into a pulp or even worse, killed.

Alright. So that was her decision. Act normal, be normal, deal with Glory, and figure out the rest when she had time. Later. Postponing would solve everything.

She washed her hair and then got out, dried herself off and went back to her room. She decided to wear her black racerback shirt and a normal pair of worn in jeans. Nothing special. Normal clothes. Yup, totally normal. Okay, so she was wearing her favorite nice underwear set, but that was purely for her.

When she finally made it to the kitchen, Spike and Dawn were just sitting down at the counter to start eating the massive pile of pancakes they had cooked. There was an ocean of maple syrup on Spike's plate, with islands of pancake soaking it up. He was just about to put a giant first bite of spongy pancake in his mouth, when he caught sight of Buffy entering the kitchen, and he almost dropped his fork.

Forget pancakes, Buffy smelled amazing. He'd rather eat her up. She'd taken a shower, he could tell, and used the vanilla soap that made him want to just lick her every time he caught its scent.

"You gonna eat that, or just hold it?" Dawn asked, nudging his hand. He managed to break out of the reverie, and stuffed it in his mouth before he said something obscenely suggestive to Buffy.

"So you two actually cooked these without destroying anything. I'm impressed." Buffy grabbed a plate and dumped two pancakes on top of it.

"Hey! That's your area of expertise, remember? We're not the ones who suck at cooking."

Spike wisely chose not to say anything, and instead passed the syrup to Buffy, who chose to sit on his other side.

Dawn saw the way Buffy sat a little too far away from Spike, saw Spike shift his chair to get closer to her, and decided she needed to help them out. She gulped down the remaining two pancakes on her plate in record time, and downed her orange juice. With a perky smile she got up, dumped her dishes in the sink, and said, "Okay, well I'm going to Janice's, see you later!" and was out the door before Buffy could finish telling her to wash her own dishes.

Buffy sighed and kept eating. What was with Dawn?

Spike wasn't entirely sure what to do with this opportunity. Normally he would just go for it—try to kiss Buffy, or something equally insane, but right now he didn't know if that was a good idea. He went for something only slightly more subtle.

"You know what this syrup would be really good on?" he asked innocently, holding up the sticky bottle and quirking an eyebrow.

"Pancakes?" Buffy asked just as innocently back, and gestured to her plate.

"You,' he said.

Whoa. Buffy was pretty sure her entire body was either freezing or burning up. Faintly she heard her fork fall to her plate. Hurriedly she picked it back up and tried to eat normally. "Just going to point out the obvious here, and say that my blood is not available for sucking at this time. Or ever."

"Who said anything about blood?" He put the bottle down. "Just saying, if you're ever in the mood for an afternoon—or morning, or midnight—snack, it would taste equally good on either of us."

"Ew Spike, just…ew."

He tilted his head. "I remember you saying a lot of things that night when I—," he broke off when he saw her glare, "—_visited_ you, but none of them were 'ew'. There were a lot of, 'Oh my GOD!'s and 'harder!'s, but I definitely don't recall an 'ew'."

Buffy gave him a spectacularly vicious look. "We are not discussing this. I was nice enough to take you out of the Bronze last night, where, I might add, you were acting like a complete idiot—well, more than usual—but that doesn't mean we are talking. Right now we are going to start doing the opposite of talking, and you're going to leave."

"Do you really want me to?" he asked. "Leave?"

"Yes! I mean what I say, now get out, since there's no reason for you to be here."

He looked at her slyly, and then snapped the strap of her bra. "So this doesn't count as a reason?"

She pushed him away and leapt off the chair. "Me wearing a bra is not a reason for you to be here, so I don't know what you're talking about."

Spike didn't look even close to convinced. "Victoria's Secret? Do you usually wear your only nice underwear on the weekend, all for yourself?"

With a frustrated gasp, Buffy grabbed the collar of the duster he was still wearing—thankfully he had found his shirt as well, so she wasn't distracted—and started dragging him to the back door.

Well fuck; this wasn't how it was supposed to go. Spike had been hoping that he could get Buffy on the kitchen table with syrup all over her skin, and him doing his usual irresistible things to her again and again. Unfortunately he was now pressed up against the wall next to the door, and Buffy was about to let loose a torrent of her wrath upon him.

"Enough, Spike. You got what you want, now you can just get—," but before she could finish her rant, Spike said to himself, _Screw it_, and kissed her.

Well, if there was one thing Buffy couldn't resist, it was Spike kissing her. Actually, no, that wasn't exactly true. If there was one thing she couldn't resist, it was Spike kissing her while reaching into her jeans to simultaneously pull her up onto him, grab her ass, and get a good look at her underwear.

"That's what I thought—you even wore the matching set," he whispered in her ear when their lips separated so he could kiss her neck.

If he hadn't been making his way under her shirt even as he said that, she might have returned to her original plan of throwing him out. Luckily for Spike, his quick fingers getting under that nice pair of underwear distracted her, and as he made his way to Buffy's room—and more importantly, her bed—she forgot everything else.

Spike kicked open the door and was about to drop Buffy on the bed so he could start the imminent ravishing, when she yelped, "No!" and started shaking her head.

"No?" Spike asked, puzzled. It was one thing to hear this when they were sitting next to each other with all their clothes on, but quite another to hear it when he was kissing her perfect breasts and holding her in his arms.

"My clothes!" she said, pointing out the pile on her bed from her indecision about what to wear.

Spike rolled his eyes. Women and their clothes. "Alright, alright." He gently lowered her into the chair next to her vanity, swept all the clothes off the bed in one annoyed stroke, picked her back up and proceeded with what he came up there to do.

Buffy honestly thought about saying something about her clothing now lying on the ground, but before she could form even the idea of a sentence in her head, Spike had pulled down her jeans and underwear, effectively ruining her attempt to berate him. With his tongue doing insane things to her that she had been dreaming about since that night, she really couldn't come up with anything coherent, not even the thought that she might regret this later.


	9. Chapter 9

**I want to apologize because this is not a very long chapter. I feel like it was an important one-I got kind of angsty, to be honest-but it's not as long as last time. I will be posting either this weekend or next Tuesday, so I'm sorry for the wait :( However, I want to thank everyone who left a review for the last chapter and who favorited this story-every one of you makes me just a little guiltier, and I write just a little faster. :D**

There was really only one problem with having sex in the middle of the day, in Buffy's opinion. It was harder to fall asleep, and therefore harder to wake up and act extremely angry.

Because right now she was lying on her bed, practically unable to move after three hours, and she couldn't exactly go all schizophrenic and start telling him to get out. That would just be ridiculous. It was far more believable—for her, at least—when she did things like that after the light outside had changed from the cover of darkness to the revealing day.

As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, Spike rolled over and covered Buffy's body with his own. His weight pressed down on her, but not uncomfortably. With a smile, an almost purely unassuming smile lacking his usual complete arrogance, he pushed some hair away from her damp face. He did it like it was a normal gesture, something he had done before, and not an audacious show of affection.

Buffy closed her eyes. What was new? She didn't want this. That was what she needed to keep telling herself to stay sane. She didn't want familiar touches and familiar looks. Or rather, she _couldn't_ want them. With a sigh, she turned her face away.

With her eyes still closed, she didn't see Spike cringe. His hand still lingering on her temple, he closed his eyes as well. Why the fuck did it always have to be like this? When was she going to realize? He loved her and would always be there, waiting for her scraps, or whatever she would give him. That was how reduced he was.

_Reduced._ Spike had read about the way love made some people feel—like they could conquer the world, as if they were above anyone else. Maybe that was what love fulfilled felt like, because he had learned that love repressed was like a tumor in his chest and in his mind that pushed out any other feeling and every other thought so that he was filled with Buffy at every moment, waking and sleeping. And it would have been killing him if he wasn't already dead.

If only he could tell her that, make her understand. But he never would, because he knew the only difference it would make would be to hurt her even more. The way to getting Buffy's love wasn't by spreading his pain to her. It was by showing her the source of that pain.

"Buffy…" He whispered her name. Her face was still turned away, a trace of anxiety written on it. "Buffy." He said it again. All he wanted was for her to look at him. With one glance into her irises he could tell what was on her mind, nine times out of ten. And even on that tenth time, he just didn't want to know. Buffy couldn't lie to him, but he could lie to himself.

After an endless, painful second, just like so many others he had to deal with alone, she opened her eyes and stared into his. He had wanted to relieve the strange tension that had entered the air, maybe suggest another round, or better yet, cock an eyebrow and go down on her without warning, the way she liked it.

One look in her eyes and it was obvious there was nothing that could be said. They both knew. Instead of trying, he kept their gazes locked, and slipped inside of her. Buffy gave one small sigh. She hadn't expected this after such a moment. No more, hard, rough fucking. Not for now. They did that well enough—they did it great, and always would, no matter the circumstances—but right now this was all they wanted. To be soft and subdued with each other.

Spike felt Buffy shudder beneath him, a feeling that sent off his own reaction straight away. She was still watching him, but when he came, he wasn't looking at her for the first time in those brief minutes.

When he had recovered from post-sex weakness, Spike got out of the bed in on lithe stride, and started putting on his clothes, not sparing a single glance at Buffy. Jeans, t-shirt, threadbare socks, duster. All accounted for, assembled as slowly as he could manage so that he could stay here and breathe in the scent of Buffy, even if he was too cowardly to look at her.

And then there was that small part of him that wanted Buffy to say something. Just one word. Not even three, like most people wanted—no, he wasn't quite that hopeful. Just one was all he wanted. _Stay_. Such a small thing, and he would be satisfied and the aching would be gone for a little while longer.

But that word didn't come, and with everything on, he stood with his back to the bed. _Don't look. It'll only hurt._ He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't…

He did. And in the dim light that was afforded by the low afternoon sun through the curtain, Spike thought he saw a glistening on Buffy's cheek. He didn't want to know. That was what he had to tell himself. After all, she couldn't lie to him, but he could lie to himself.

Without another word, he left.

Buffy lay on the bed, motionless. Exhausted. Too tired to even open the window and let the light and air get in to erase current events. Her mind and body felt like they had been put through a wringer of judgmental sorts, rather the way she would be judged if anyone really knew her. Anyone else besides Spike, that is.

Only one tear had escaped, but of course it had to be released in that one moment that Spike saw. She wasn't crying over him. She didn't know what she was crying over, but it couldn't be him. And that wasn't denial she was conjuring out of thin air, it was the truth.

For a full hour, she lay there. She thought. Buffy thought with the kind of precision that she directed at attacks on demons and their nests, the same kind of focus that military generals used to make the hardest decisions they had. And when she had come to a conclusion, she decided to think on it even more. With that comforting certainty that she had a plan, she climbed out of bed and got dressed.

It was, by now, four in the afternoon. She still had a few hours until patrol would be any use, and the vampires could come out to play. With resolve, Buffy went down to the kitchen to try and cook something.

It wasn't that she was a terrible cook, it was just that she didn't have much practice. Just like anything else, if you wanted to be good at it, you needed to practice, and that was something Buffy didn't have when it came to kitchen-related things.

But all this thinking about cooking—namely, what she could possibly make for her and Dawn to eat tonight—was making her think about her mom.

"Mom." She said it quietly, and unevenly. It still sounded empty, the way it had ever since that day.

Her second tear of the day glided down her cheek, and dripped to the floor. With resolve, she swore not to let another one follow it, because if there were two, there would be three, and then she would be curled up against the cupboard, body aching from the force of her crying.

So Buffy pulled out a box of macaroni, and went back to what she was doing, letting her plan simmer in the back of her mind and block out all feelings of loss.


	10. Chapter 10

**I am SO sorry to everyone who now slightly hates me for lying. Again. I know I said I would post like two weeks ago. I am a terrible person. Add in that I am kind of having an awful week, and you end up with a blocked fanfic writer who hates herself :( BUT I have to say a million thanks to anyone who added this story to their favorites or subscription this week, and anyone who added me to their favorite authors. Seeing all of those notifications in my email kicked my ass and made me finish this chapter, plus gave me an idea to keep this fic going, since up until now I really had no clue haha. Enjoy, review if you feel like it, and thank you all!**

Spike got back to his crypt and released a little bit of his mental confusion by kicking in the door, though that didn't really compose his thoughts so much as distract him. And five seconds later all he could think about was how he never knew what to do with Buffy.

She could have said it. He would have spent the whole day with her, but he never _knew._ Would staying make her angry, or happy? She denied everything constantly so that neither of them knew what would satisfy her except sex.

With a sigh, Spike flopped down into his dusty armchair. Sex, of course, was good. Spectacular. But that didn't stop him from wanting to take Buffy in his arms and just holding her.

All this thinking was really too much. Whatever happened to the good life, without a complicated Slayer to deal with? _You're lying to yourself there, mate. Life without the Slayer wasn't comparable to this, even with all the crap that comes along with it._

BANG. Without realizing immediately what had happened, Spike found himself flying backwards, still in the armchair, and hitting the opposite wall with enough force to hurt him. The wall shook, and bits of stone and grime fell on him, where he lay stunned on the floor.

Through the haze of dust that floated through the dim crypt, making it even harder to see, Spike could just make out the figure of whatever had thrown him clear across the room. Whatever it was, it didn't look like a demon of the fuzzy, cuddly variety. If there was a fuzzy, cuddly variety.

In fact, it looked downright hellish, with glowing red eyes and a bulky body that told him it could kick any ol' vampire straight into next Tuesday. As the debris cleared, and his vision stopped spinning a bit, he realized with a horrible, dawning fear, that he might not be able to get out of this. But that wouldn't stop him from trying. With a roar, ignoring how his whole body was protesting from the experience of flying, he jumped up and started attacking the demon-thing with all the strength he had.

It was a short fight, and it left the demon dead, and Spike half-way there. Cursing his horrible luck, he collapsed on the floor, and slipped straight into unconsciousness, knowing, even through the beating he'd taken, exactly who had sent that demon.

_Glory._

Buffy was bored. And bored Buffy meant lots of thinking started to invade her head.

Thinking about things like her plan. The plan was simple, and it was good from every angle. _Every angle except mine._ Buffy sighed. She didn't want to admit it, but the plan was going to hurt just a bit. _It's like pulling off a band aid. Do it before I have to think about it too much. Stop overthinking._

The phone rang. Grateful for the sudden distraction, Buffy jumped off the couch and went to the phone, wondering for a second who was calling her. There were plenty of options, but she wasn't sure any of the appealed to her. Any of the gang would only be calling to ask what had happened to Spike after she dragged him out of the Bronze, or more importantly _why_ she had helped him out of there. If it was Giles then it would only be about a new demon threat, or updates on Glory, or even worse, another apocalypse on top of the one they were already dealing with. After going through all those choices in her head, she was beginning to wonder if it was even a good idea to answer, but her boredom got the better of her, so she picked up the phone warily. "Hello?"

At first there was no answer, only a weird sort of rasping noise. "Hello?" Buffy was going to be seriously annoyed if someone was prank calling her. She was going to be even more annoyed if a demon was prank calling her. That would just be undignified.

There was a sound, like someone was drawing breath, the same rasping noise intensified as she realized it was someone breathing—or trying to—and then the last voice she expected to hear.

"Slayer. Bloody hell. Glory sent something over here to kill me."

Though what Spike had said sent a slight shiver through her body, Buffy tried to stay nonchalant. "I take it you're not dead."

"Brilliant reasoning. No, but it is. It was some kind of demon I've never seen before. Dissolved into a cloud of hellfire and there's nothing left." Spike sounded terrible. This wasn't going to help with Buffy's plan. Not at all.

"Do you need me to come over there?" she asked him.

He scoffed, which deteriorated into a fit of coughing, reminiscent of how this had all started—with him being beaten to a pulp by Glory, and one idiotic kiss from Buffy. One kiss that she didn't know if she regretted or not. With a sigh, she listened to him berate her. "You're kidding me, blondie. Have you turned back into that perky little cheerleader you used to be?" She gasped in annoyance, and was about to say something nasty back to him, when he cut her off mid-thought. "Yes." It was an admission that she wasn't sure he wanted to give her, but he did. "Yeah, I need you to come over here righ' now."

Buffy was out the door, and in his crypt as fast as she could get there. She opened the door like a normal person, hoping Spike would appreciate the gesture. From what she could see though, he didn't notice. He was sprawled in the corner, with a cell phone that was no doubt stolen right next to him. For a second, Buffy wondered how he had her number—the only explanation being that he had it memorized. Which was ridiculous. Completely and utterly, as they say, and that was why she was putting it out of her mind right away. Anyway, she was more concerned by the state Spike was in. He was leaning weakly against the wall, and he didn't react when she walked in.

"Spike?" Buffy approached him, but even at the sound of her voice, he didn't open his eyes, or even more. She knew that he could sense her there, but at first glance it seemed like he was either too exhausted or too injured.

But when she got closer to him, bending down and putting one hand on his arm, she frowned. There was a small cut on his forehead, but other than that he seemed to be unhurt. Of course she knew the dangers of internal injuries, that were hard to find from outside, but it seemed like if there was something so significantly wrong that it would cause Spike to be unresponsive, it would be easier to see from the surface. This didn't seem to be right: one small cut that would be healed within a day with his vampiric benefits, and yet he hadn't acknowledged that she was there in the least.

"Spike. Are you awake?" It felt a bit awkward asking him that, when he hadn't said so much as hello, but she didn't know what else to say. "Spike. You don't have to talk, just…twitch or something."

Nothing. Not a groan, twitch, nudge or grope. The last was particularly notable, because her chest was directly in his face. If that wasn't a foolproof test of signs of life in Spike, then she didn't know what was.

Clearly, something was very wrong.

**I've got a new WIP starting tomorrow, it's called Get Wet, please check it out if the description intrigues you. Thanks!**


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